


5.12 "Machinations"

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Series: Warp 5 Complex Virtual Season 5 [4]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Virtual Season/Series, Warp 5 Complex Virtual Season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-26
Updated: 2006-04-26
Packaged: 2018-08-16 06:59:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8092183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: The mysterious Harris once again involves Enterprise in his machinations. But all is not as it seems, and the Enterprise crew are not the only people being manipulated. (02/24/2006)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Beta: Sal, Kylie Lee  


* * *

The office almost oozed understated luxury: a thick, plush carpet; antique light fittings; real wood furniture. A torchiere by the window cast a warm glow over an antique rosewood desk, making the evening outside seem darker than it was and obscuring the view of the Golden Gate Bridge. Opposite the panoramic window, two men sat at ease in brocade-upholstered armchairs placed on either side of an occasional table; they were shadowy figures in the subdued lighting.

One of the men leaned forward, picked up a crystal tumbler and tipped it carefully, watching as the golden liquid it contained swirled from side to side, coating the glass. The movement brought him further into the light, and the three rank studs on either shoulder of his uniform gleamed briefly.

"Harris is becoming a liability," the other man said. "His obsession with _Enterprise_ and Reed is a threat to the security of the organization."

"What do you propose we do about it? I assume you have something in mind."

"His current action is reckless—"

"And dangerous." The first man spoke with the authority; this was his field of expertise. "If _Enterprise_ is lost, it would compromise Earth's defense."

"I propose we allow Harris to proceed with his plan unhindered—give him enough rope to hang himself. _Enterprise_ can be easily distracted, kept out of danger."

"And the officers involved?"

"Their loss will be regrettable, but collateral damage is inevitable. We've always known that. In the long term, it's a small price to pay."

* * *

"Captain's starlog. We're currently traveling through an undistinguished area of space, and I have to admit it makes a welcome change after our recent run-in with the Romulans. Commander Tucker is busy installing some upgrades to the EPS grid, courtesy of Captain Sopek of the _Ni'Var_ ; Lieutenant Reed is running a series of refresher self-defense courses for nonarmory personnel; and Commander T'Pol is investigating the suitability for shore leave of a couple of planets on our course."

Captain Jonathan Archer paused in his recording as the comm sounded, easing the bruised shoulder he'd picked up at yesterday's self-defense class.

"Captain, I have an incoming message marked for your eyes only."

Ensign Sato's voice sounded disinterested, but knowing her as he did, Archer was sure she was crawling with curiosity—as was he: "eyes only" messages were not an everyday occurrence. So much for everything being quiet, he thought with a shake of his head.

"Put it through, Hoshi," he said, switching off his log and sitting up a little straighter in his chair in expectation of facing a member of Starfleet's top brass.

"Captain, I hope this isn't an inconvenient time."

"Harris!" Archer glared at the screen briefly, then snapped, "What the hell do you want?" He made no attempt to disguise his dislike for the man gazing urbanely out at him.

"Really, Captain, there's no need for this animosity—"

"I have nothing to say to you," Archer interrupted, reaching over to disconnect the communication.

"I think you'll want to hear this," Harris put in hastily. "Unless you want to take your ship to war again."

Archer turned from the screen, trying to curb his annoyance. Much as he hated it, he knew he had to listen to what Harris had to say. "You have five minutes," he said curtly.

"Thank you, Captain. It's always a pleasure to deal with you."

"The pleasure's all yours, I assure you. Four minutes, fifty seconds."

Harris dropped his insincere smile and leaned forward as if to emphasize what he was about to say. "I need to ask a favor of one of your crew."

"No! I won't have _Enterprise_ involved in any more of your cloak-and-dagger games, Harris." Archer was adamant. He wanted Harris to be in no doubt how he felt—although, frankly, he doubted the man would take much notice. "And Lieutenant Reed is no longer under any obligation to work for you. I thought I'd made that clear."

"You're mistaken. It's not Lieutenant Reed I want. It's Commander Tucker."

"Commander Tucker?" Archer repeated, genuinely surprised. "What can you possibly want with him?"

"Am I to assume that means you are willing to hear me out?"

"Just say what you have to say." Archer hated the feeling that he was inevitably going to be manipulated into doing exactly what Harris wanted.

"You will not be aware, Captain, but Starfleet is currently working on the development of the next generation of starship propulsion—engines that will enable us to travel at warp eight and beyond, faster than even the Vulcans. And speaking of our esteemed allies, they are not in the know on this matter, and it is very much in Earth's interest that they should remain in ignorance."

"So you say," Archer interjected, making no attempt to hide his skepticism. "I'll need to confirm all this with Starfleet."

"I thought you understood by now that Starfleet will deny my organization's existence. And one thing you can be very sure of is that they will not admit the theft of plans for a project so secret that even our closest allies know nothing about it. I have to ask that you not inform Commander T'Pol of the details of what I am about to tell you."

"I'm making no promises."

Harris looked annoyed briefly, but shrugged his apparent acceptance of Archer's stance and proceeded to explain just what it was he wanted.

* * *

"Trip, take a seat." Archer waved his chief engineer, Commander Trip Tucker, into the ready room.

"Is there a problem, Cap'n?"

"You could say that," Archer replied, raising a hand to stop further questions. "Let's wait for Malcolm. I don't want to have to explain this twice." There was a buzz at the door as he finished speaking and he called out, "Enter."

"Sir." Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, _Enterprise_ 's tactical officer and head of security, stepped in just far enough to allow the door to close behind him and stood at parade rest.

"I've just had a call from an old acquaintance," Archer said without preamble. "Harris."

Reed shifted his weight slightly and exchanged a quick glance with Tucker.

"What does that sonovabitch want now?" It was Tucker who spoke.

"He has a little 'favor' to ask of us." Archer made no attempt to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Specifically, he has a favor to ask of you, Trip."

"Me?" Tucker said, at the same time as Reed said, "No!"

"You, Trip," Archer confirmed.

"Commander, you don't have to do this. Captain, whatever Harris wants, Commander Tucker doesn't have to be involved." Reed was vehement.

"I think maybe he does, Malcolm. Just hear me out, okay?" Archer smiled to take the sting out of the words. "And sit down," he added, taking his own place in his desk chair.

Reed sat without further protest, although his tightly compressed lips and rigid posture telegraphed his disapproval. Archer paused a moment to marshal his thoughts, then told the two officers Harris's story.

"Ten days ago, one of Harris's people, an administrator named Mostyn, disappeared from Utopia Planetia, taking with him a copy of the plans for the prototype of a revolutionary new warp engine."

"Revolutionary how?" Tucker interrupted.

"He didn't go into details, Trip. Just that they're hoping for warp eight." Tucker whistled softly. "And that the Vulcans know nothing about the project. I know," Archer nodded, acknowledging Reed's skeptical look. I'm not happy to think Starfleet could be working behind the Vulcans' backs after all we've been through together, but old grudges are hard to shake off, I guess. Mostyn is attempting to sell the plans to the highest bidder. If that turns out to be his erstwhile employers, all well and good, but the intermediaries he's using are known to have worked for a lot of unfriendly people in the past, including the Romulans."

"How does this involve the commander?" Reed asked, although from his concerned expression, Archer was pretty sure he'd already worked the answer out for himself.

"Does Harris want me to do a deal with this guy?" Tucker looked puzzled.

"No, not do the deal. He wants you to meet with Mostyn to check out the goods, make sure what he's selling is the real thing. Once he's sure exactly what the man's got, Harris will take it from there."

"That doesn't make sense," Reed put in. "If this propulsion system is so different, how will Commander Tucker be able to tell if the plans are accurate? No offense," he added to Tucker.

Tucker shrugged. "I'm an engineer. Given time to study the plans, I should be able to figure it out."

"If all it takes is an engineer, then why you?" Reed persisted.

"I'm a damn good engineer," Tucker grinned as Reed rolled his eyes. "And I am Starfleet's field expert in propulsion."

Reed turned to Archer. "I don't like this, sir."

"Neither do I, Malcolm. We all know how tricky Harris is. But if there's any chance that he's telling the truth, that a traitor is preparing to sell Earth's secrets, then we can't afford to dismiss him out of hand."

"I got to admit, if this engine is as revolutionary as he says, I'd sure like to get a look at the plans," Tucker admitted.

"We only have Harris's word that the engine even exists," Reed pointed out.

"Why would he make it up?"

Reed shot an incredulous look at Tucker but ignored the question and said to Archer, "There's more to this than Harris is telling you, sir, I'm sure of it. This business of not being able to verify anything he says—that's not right. There's always been some confirmation before, however circumstantial. And Starfleet developing an engine unbeknownst to the Vulcans?" He shook his head. "It doesn't make sense."

"No," Archer agreed. "Even given our history with them, I find that part hard to believe. I can try and make some discreet inquiries, but I'm not sure how far I'll get. In the meantime, assuming you're up for it, Trip, we need to think about how we're going to play this. Harris is insistent that _Enterprise_ will scare his man off."

"So that means a shuttlepod, I guess."

"With _Enterprise_ tailing you at a safe distance," Reed said. "Captain, I'm not happy with Commander Tucker being on his own."

"I don't need a baby-sitter, Malcolm."

Reed looked as if he'd like to argue that point, but settled for saying, "The mere fact that Harris asked for you to go alone is reason enough to send someone with you."

Tucker frowned. "Oh, and what backup did you have when you were working for him?"

"That was different," Reed said stiffly.

"I don't see how."

"Gentlemen," Archer interrupted pointedly. "If you don't mind?"

The two officers had the grace to look chagrined as their captain brought the discussion back to matters at hand.

" _Enterprise_ is going to have to stand off quite a ways," Tucker said. "I'll see if I can rig somethin' to improve the scan resolution. Maybe boost the 'pod's locator signal," he mused. "I'll get on that now, Cap'n, if we're all finished here?"

"Good idea," Archer said, nodding his dismissal.

Tucker left for engineering, but Reed hung back.

"Malcolm?" Archer prompted.

"I have serious reservations about this, Captain. I know you'll say I'm being paranoid…" he paused long enough to smile bleakly at Archer's automatic denial, "but something's wrong. I can't put my finger on it, but…"

"I'm with you. I don't have your experience of dealing with Harris, but I'm positive he was hiding something."

"I'd like to go with Commander Tucker."

"Yes, I think that's a good idea," Archer agreed. "Though I can't help wondering…"

"Sir?"

"Harris was insistent that it was only Trip he wanted, but given your history…I as good as told him I wouldn't let Trip take on this mission alone, and he must know you'd be the natural choice to accompany him."

"You're not suggesting that this is an elaborate setup just to get at me are you, sir?" Reed smirked. "Even I'm not that paranoid."

* * *

On his way to the mess for lunch the next day, Tucker dropped into the launch bay looking for Reed. _Enterprise_ 's alpha shift helmsman, Ensign Mayweather, was busy with one of the shuttlepods.

"How's it going, Travis?" Tucker said in greeting. "Malcolm here?"

"In the 'pod." Mayweather nodded toward the open hatch. "We're about finished, I think."

"Great." Tucker clapped him on the shoulder in passing and climbed inside the shuttlepod. "Malcolm?"

"Ah, Commander." Reed pulled himself out from under the pilot's console, pressed a few buttons on the display, and, apparently satisfied with the results, secured the cover over the circuits on which he'd been working. "The device is installed and calibrated. _Enterprise_ should be able to keep track of us from a distance of point eight-five light-years—far enough away to be out of scanner range of any ship Mostyn is likely to have. They won't pick up much detail, but it should be sufficient to tell whether we're still in one piece."

"Good. Let's hope it's enough." Tucker looked around the cramped interior. "Probably not such a good idea this, is it?" he mused.

"An understatement, I'd say," Reed muttered caustically.

"Nah, I mean us, going off together in a shuttlepod. Not as if we've gotten a good track record."

Reed snorted, "Why do you think I chose Shuttlepod Two?"

"Smart," Tucker conceded. "Still, you think it's some kind of trap, don't you?"

Reed grimaced. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't trust Harris, but I can't think of any reason why he would want to trap you, or if he did, how this would work."

"What makes you so sure it's me he wants to trap?" At Reed's surprised look he continued: "He's only met me the once, doesn't know me. Seems to me it's you who's been giving him grief."

"The captain suggested as much too, but it was you he asked for. There's no way he could know I'd go with you."

"Are you sure about that? He's manipulated you before."

Reed folded his arms defensively and looked away, his irritation clear.

"I'm just saying, be careful," Tucker said. "Something stinks about this whole thing. Don't get so tied up looking after me that you forget to watch your own back, okay?"

Reed nodded, relaxing. "I won't," he promised. "Has Harris been in touch with details of the rendezvous yet?"

"That's what I came to tell you. It's a go for tomorrow. The captain wants to see us both sixteen-hundred hours for a briefing."

* * *

Reed, arriving first at the briefing room, was just checking the time and tutting impatiently to himself when Captain Archer entered, together with Commander T'Pol. He was saved the embarrassment of having to respond to Archer's faintly amused glance and raised eyebrow by Tucker barreling into the room.

"Sorry—just fixing a glitch in the port injector," he apologized.

"No problem, Trip," Archer said, "you weren't the only one who was late."

Reed felt himself blushing but said nothing.

"So," Tucker said, eyeing the Vulcan first officer before looking questioningly at Archer.

"I've filled T'Pol in on the details of the mission," Archer admitted. "All the details."

Tucker nodded, accepting without question his captain's decision to go against Harris's instruction to keep knowledge of the prototype engine from their Vulcan first officer.

"So," he said again, "are we good to go?"

Archer nodded. "Harris has sent a set of coordinates and a time, but no other details. He says he doesn't know what type of vessel Mostyn has, but that the man's agreed to come to the rendezvous alone."

"Is that likely, sir?" Reed asked. "What guarantee does he have that we'll keep our end of the bargain?"

"The same guarantee we have that he'll keep his."

"In other words, none at all," Tucker put in.

"In any situation such as this, there has to be a degree of trust," T'Pol said. "And although there are inherent dangers in selling stolen property back to its rightful owner, it is logical to assume that in this case, they are outweighed by the potential dangers of dealing with the Romulans."

"He'll trust us because we're his safest bet?" Reed didn't seem entirely convinced. "If it were me, I'd still have a backup plan—and an escape route."

"Yeah, well, since we're not going to attack him or try to steal the plans back off of him, we won't find out either way," Tucker said, ignoring Reed's frown. "When do we leave?"

"You're to be at the coordinates at fifteen-hundred hours tomorrow," Archer explained. "At oh-seven-hundred hours, _Enterprise_ will drop you off point seven-five light-years away and hold position at that distance. That should give you plenty of time. We'll maintain communications silence and keep scans to a minimum. That way, with any luck, Mostyn will remain in ignorance of _your_ backup plan and escape route."

"I have checked the coordinates against the database," T'Pol said. "You will rendezvous at the outer reaches of a small solar system in relatively empty area of space, away from regular transport routes. Neither of the two planets in the system is habitable, and the chances of there being anyone other than yourselves and Mostyn in the area are remote. However—"

"How come there's always a 'however'?" Tucker complained.

T'Pol merely raised one elegantly arched brow before continuing. "However, the system's star regularly emits intense bursts of gamma and electromagnetic radiation. The shuttlepod's hull plating should provide more than adequate protection for you both, but the radiation may interfere with sensors."

"Brilliant!" Reed muttered.

"There's a danger at peak intensity the electromagnetic interference will be strong enough to mask the shuttlepod from _Enterprise_ 's sensors," Archer confirmed. "If that happens, we'll move in closer. And Doctor Phlox wants to give you an antiradiation booster, just to be on the safe side. He's expecting you in sickbay."

Tucker nodded and he and Reed left, neither looking very enthusiastic, although whether that was because of the forthcoming mission or the visit to sickbay, Archer couldn't tell. He was about to follow his officers out of the room when T'Pol spoke.

"Captain, if I may?"

Archer turned back and waited for her to continue.

"I have not had the opportunity to speak with you since I received your report on this mission, and the information regarding the experimental warp engine. I want to assure you that I regard this information as confidential, as I do everything I learn in the course of my duties on _Enterprise._ I am a member of Starfleet, and that is where my loyalty lies."

"I know that, Commander," Archer said, using her rank purposely. "I have complete faith in your discretion. Besides," he added, resisting only with difficulty the urge to slap her on the shoulder as he would have done with Tucker, "Lieutenant Reed isn't convinced the engine even exists."

"And you agree with him?" When Archer only shrugged, T'Pol asked, "In that case, why are you allowing the mission to go ahead?"

"In case Mr. Reed's wrong."

"You are probably correct to consider Harris untrustworthy," she conceded, "but he has proved to be of assistance in the past."

"Yes. Let's hope that this time he's the guy in the white hat."

"Indeed," T'Pol said, acknowledging her understanding of the archaic movie reference.

* * *

There was a reassuring bustle of activity when Tucker entered the launch bay just before 0700 hours the next morning. Mayweather was running final preflight checks on Shuttlepod Two. Reed was deep in conversation with Rostov from engineering, presumably about the last-minute alterations he'd instigated to the shuttlepod's hull plating; the armory officer was hoping they would provide increased protection against electromagnetic disturbance for the scanners and other vital equipment. Archer was standing on near the entrance with Doctor Phlox.

As Tucker approached, Phlox stepped forward, brandishing a hypospray. "Commander." The Denobulan beamed his disturbingly wide smile. "Your final booster," he said. "We don't want you succumbing to radiation poisoning do we, hmm?" he added as Tucker grimaced.

"Guess not, Doc," Tucker said, tilting his head to one side to give access to his neck. "This stuff always makes me a bit queasy is all."

"Any nausea will soon wear off, as I told Lieutenant Reed."

"Good. Last thing I want is to be stuck in a shuttlepod with Malcolm if he's sick to his stomach." Reed suffered from motion sickness and had been know to throw up in turbulence.

"Let's hope it's a smooth flight," Archer said, sharing a grin with Tucker.

The subject of their concern walked over to join them.

"Preflight checks are complete, sir," Reed said. "We're ready for launch."

Archer nodded acknowledgment. "Don't take any unnecessary risks," he warned them both. "We'll be right here. Any serious—"

He was interrupted by T'Pol's voice on the comm. "Bridge to Captain Archer."

"As I was saying," he continued, walking to the nearest com panel, "any serious problems, forget about communications silence—just call for help. At warp five, we can be with you in under an hour. Go ahead, T'Pol."

"Captain, Ensign Sato has picked up a distress call from the Earth Cargo Ship _Tasman._ They are trapped in the atmosphere of a gas giant and request immediate assistance."

Archer sighed. Of course an emergency would come up at the worst possible moment. "What's their position?"

"The Pa'lara system, eleven point eight nine light-years away."

"That's almost three hours at warp five," Tucker said.

"Is there no one closer?" Archer asked.

"We are the only vessel to have acknowledged their signal. They estimate they have approximately four hours before their vessel loses structural integrity," T'Pol added, anticipating the captain's next question.

Archer hung his head and scrubbed a hand across his face.

"You have to go, sir." Reed spoke quietly but firmly, stating the obvious but offering reassurance at the same time. "Commander Tucker and I will be fine."

"You're right, of course," Archer admitted. "T'Pol, lay in a course and stand by. Travis, get up to the bridge." As Mayweather hurried out, the captain turned to his chief engineer and armory officer. "I hate to leave you two on your own like this."

"We can't abort the mission; you can't ignore a distress call," Tucker pointed out. "Like Malcolm says, we'll be okay." He turned to Reed. "We better get going."

As Tucker headed for the shuttlepod, Archer stopped Reed with a hand on his arm. "This is a very…conveniently timed distress call, don't you think?"

Reed sighed. "That had occurred to me too, sir, but I don't see what we can do about it. You can't not respond."

"I know, but just be careful, Malcolm."

"You too, sir."

Archer watched as Reed climbed into the shuttlepod and closed the hatch before he headed to the bridge, hoping the distress call was just an inconvenient coincidence and not another example of Harris's machinations.

* * *

"How long until we get there?" Tucker asked—again.

"Are we there yet, Dad? Are we there yet?" Reed mocked.

"You don't look anything like my dad."

Reed ran his eyes over the tall, rangy blond sprawled on the shuttlepod's rear bench and smiled. "No, I don't suppose so."

"And the answer is…?" Tucker prompted, grinning back at him.

"Oh," Reed turned back to his monitor. "Fifty-five minutes. We should be within scanning range of the rendezvous in forty."

"Time for something to eat then. What sounds good to you?"

Tucker busied himself heating and serving the ration packs, settling back on the rear bench with his. Reed stayed in the pilot's seat, keeping a cursory eye on the navigation readouts. As they ate, they talked about their mission and Harris—or rather, Tucker talked; Reed just listened and "hmmed" in the right places. Eventually Tucker fell silent. Reed knew what was coming next. Tucker had been skirting the subject for most of their journey, after all.

"So," Tucker put down his fork and pushed his empty dish to one side. "You never did tell me how you came to be tangled up with Harris and his organization."

"No."

Silence. It was not the response Reed had been expecting. Against his better judgment, he glanced at the shuttlepod's front window, checking Tucker's reflection, darting his eyes away again as he saw Tucker grinning at him.

Tucker laughed. "Face it, Malcolm, you know you're going to tell me in the end. Might as well get it over with."

Reed shrugged. "I was bored. He offered an exciting diversion."

"Yeah, that's what the captain said you said, but I'm not buying it. You never struck me as a thrill-seeker."

Reed sighed. It had all been such a long time ago—a part of his life he'd believed was over. He hadn't thought about it in years, until Harris had contacted him after Phlox's abduction. Since then, he'd been forced to reopen the relationship and work with or for Harris on a number of occasions in spite of his distaste, and more than once he'd asked himself Tucker's question: how the hell did he ever get involved with the man and his organization? The answer, which had seemed so logical at the time, now sounded stupid even to his own ears, and it wasn't something he wanted to discuss. But he acknowledged the truth of Tucker's comment; the man was persistent, and he wouldn't give up until Reed had told him, so really there was no point in prolonging the agony.

"You've obviously never had a six-month security posting on Jupiter Station," he said dryly. "Day after day of deadly boring routine, only enlivened by the occasional bar fight." He swung his chair around so he was facing Tucker. "There really isn't much to tell. I was a young ensign on a boring posting, and covert operations sounded exciting." Reed shrugged, hoping, but not really expecting, that Tucker would let the matter drop.

Tucker rolled his eyes. "You signed on as a spy because you were bored?"

"I wasn't a spy; it was covert ops. It's not the same thing," Reed protested, stung by Tucker's skeptical expression. He shut his eyes briefly then, coming to a decision, turned half away from Tucker and started talking.

"When my parents first met, my mother was an intelligence officer in the Royal Navy," he said. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Tucker hunch himself forward, probably puzzled at the apparent change of subject. Not giving him a chance to interrupt, Reed hurried on. "She went back to work after I was born, only gave up for good when Maddy was born." He stopped, unsure how to proceed.

"So, what, you were trying to follow in your mother's footsteps?"

"No, no. Not really. Look, I don't know why I said that. Jupiter Station _was_ boring. I was in basic training, learning the ropes in security before they'd let me specialize. It wasn't where I wanted to be, and it wasn't what I wanted to do. I was hoping to go into weapon research and development. The policing side of security didn't interest me at all; I was bored out of my skull by it all. Harris turned up with his story of an undercover department and asked me to do a little job for him. What can I say? It was exciting, and I discovered I had some talent for it."

"Hmm." Tucker pondered for a moment, then said, "How does your mom being an intelligence officer come into this?"

"It doesn't—well, only indirectly. When I was little, my father would tell me stories about my naval ancestors—what they did, the vessels they sailed on, et cetera. Most of all, he'd talk about Mum's work—her secret missions, he called it. I suppose it must have stuck with me. He was proud of her," he finished with a little sigh. Reed looked up just in time to catch an expression of shock on Tucker's face, and in an effort to prevent an outburst of sympathetic support, he hurried on. "Anyway, it's Harris I have to thank for my being on _Enterprise._ The 'little jobs' I did for him showed me a whole new side to working in security. I decided I enjoyed it after all, and once I was back on Earth, I transferred out of R and D and into active service."

"That was when you left Harris's mob?"

"No, I was still on his books, so to speak, but it was a while before he asked me to do anything else. Even then, it was just small stuff—nothing that interfered with my duties, mostly following people and bypassing security systems." He grimaced. "At that time, Harris was a still a commander in Starfleet and I thought the orders came from a bona fide section of Starfleet Security. By the time I realized the truth, just how dirty the organization was, I was in too deep."

"Wadd'ya mean, dirty? What was he—"

Before Tucker could finish his question, the shuttlepod lurched violently, and the noise of an explosion echoed around the small space.

* * *

The atmosphere on the _Enterprise_ bridge was tense, and not just because they were on a rescue mission. Captain Archer's thoughts were light-years away with his chief engineer and armory officer, as were everyone else's, he was sure, except possibly Ensign Mayweather. Mayweather had grown up a Boomer; his family still lived on and operated a cargo ship. He, more than anyone, could be expected to empathize with the crew of the _Tasman._

A thought occurred to Archer and he asked the helmsman, "Travis, do you know the _Tasman_?"

Mayweather turned to face him, his unusually wary expression immediately starting Archer's alarm bells ringing.

"I know of her, sir. We never met up, but I remember my dad talking about them."

"Anything I should know about?" Archer asked.

Mayweather shrugged. "Just rumors, sir. That she maybe sometimes carried cargoes it was best not to know about."

"Smuggling, you mean?"

"That was the implication. Dad always said we shouldn't jump to conclusions, shouldn't condemn them without hard facts. But he still steered clear of her."

Archer looked across at Ensign Sato. "Hoshi, see what you can find out about the _Tasman._ Be discreet. Starfleet's relations with Earth Transit Authority aren't the best; we don't want to spark an incident."

"Aye, sir." Sato began rifling through her files: transmission logs; random data gleaned from various sources; gossip.

They would be at the Pa'lara system in less than thirty minutes. That wasn't much time, and maybe there wouldn't anything to find, but Archer couldn't rid himself of the suspicion that this distress call had been just a little too conveniently timed.

When _Enterprise_ finally moved into orbit around Pa'lara's gas giant, Archer began to think that maybe he had picked up a little of his armory officer's paranoia. The ECS _Tasman_ was clearly genuinely in difficulties; her engines were dead, and she was adrift and helpless in the giant's outer atmosphere, being tugged in deeper by the minute by the giant's gravity well.

The cargo ship was an old model, capable of warp two at most, Archer guessed. It looked ungainly and lumbering, especially compared with _Enterprise_ 's sleek shape—although that was a false comparison, of course; aerodynamic lines counted for nothing in space.

Archer's musings were interrupted by Ensign Tanner, at tactical in Reed's place. "They're carrying a lot of armament for a cargo ship. They have a phase cannon. Not as powerful as ours and nothing to worry us, but still…"

"But still, indeed, Ensign," Archer agreed. "Is that usual, Travis?" When they had met up with Mayweather's family's ship, the _Horizon,_ it had carried only minimal weaponry, suitable only for destroying small obstacles in their path.

Mayweather shrugged. "More Boomer ships are armed these days than used to be, especially after the Xindi and what's been happening with the Romulans. But a phase cannon is expensive. Paul has upgraded _Horizon_ 's firepower, but not with anything that fancy. It'll take a couple of years' really profitable trading before he can even consider a phase cannon."

"I guess business is good for the _Tasman_ then. Legal or not."

"Not according to the ECS database, sir," Sato chipped in. Archer and Mayweather both turned to face her as she continued. "I haven't been able to find out anything that's not public knowledge, but the ship's trading records are nothing out of the ordinary, and it's had a lot of expenses over the last two years. It was damaged during a run in with a Nausicaan vessel, and then suffered further damage three months later. The records are vague as to what exactly happened, but the phase cannon installation is listed on the manifest for the second set of repairs. And, sir, the bill for the cannon wasn't paid by the _Tasman_ 's captain. It was settled by a third party—Hatham Industries."

"What!" Archer strode across to her station and peered at the screen there. "You're sure about that?" he asked, although he could see the evidence for himself. "This stinks," he said, straightening and punching one fist into the palm of his other hand.

Mayweather and Sato exchanged worried looks. They, like Archer and T'Pol, knew that name only too well.

Hatham Industries had been named on the disk given to Mayweather by the Starfleet agent Gannet Brooks before her death as a major source of funding for the isolationist Earth Terra Prime organization. Harris had told them where to find Hatham's leaders, but by the time Reed and Tucker arrived at the address they'd been given, the birds had flown, possibly with the aid of a Klingon Bird-of-Prey. Harris had said that someone tipped Hatham off about Starfleet's investigation, ensuring no hard evidence was found about their involvement in the Luna plot. Archer was beginning to think that Harris, not for the first time, hadn't given them all the facts.

But speculation would have to wait. They might possibly get some information out of the _Tasman_ 's captain, a man named Hendry, but first priority was to rescue the stricken ship.

* * *

Tucker grabbed desperately at thin air, trying to find something, anything, to hang on to as the shuttlepod bucked wildly in the shockwave of another explosion. He could see Reed on the floor between his seat and the pilot's console, groggily trying to clamber to his feet. Taking advantage of the craft's movements, Tucker allowed himself to roll to the front of the craft, catching hold of a seat to bring himself to a halt. He spared a quick glance for his companion, noticing the blood on his face, before pulling himself up to read the instrument panel.

"What the heck's going on?" Tucker yelled.

"Someone's shooting at us." Reed, having managed to stand, leaned across to tactical. "Shall I arm weapons?" He looked at Tucker, wiping blood out of his eye with a sleeve as he waited for the commander's decision.

"Let's find out what's out there first."

"There's nothing on scanners." Reed sank into his chair. "Can you check for damage?"

Tucker started to head for the rear of the small cabin, only to be stopped in his tracks by Reed's shocked, "Oh damn!" Turning back, he was just in time to see a small, but threateningly militaristic, ship drop out of warp in front of the shuttlepod.

"Where in hell did that come from?" Tucker demanded.

"The radiation must be affecting long-range scanners." Reed's hands flew over the controls as he scanned the vessel. "Phase cannons, photon torpedoes, three life-forms…Commander, they're Klingon!"

"What? Are you sure? What are they doin' out here, and why are they attacking us?"

"They're not," Reed replied tersely. "If that'd been an attack, we'd be dead by now."

"That wasn't an attack?" Tucker said disbelievingly.

"Those were warning shots. The Klingon equivalent of a shot across the bow, presumably."

"I thought Klingons didn't believe in warning shots."

"Be glad this one apparently does," Reed said pointedly.

"If they don't want us dead, what do they want?"

As if in reply to Tucker's question, a voice growled over the comm. "Earth vessel, why are you here? Our agreement was, no Starfleet."

Tucker and Reed exchanged a startled look.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Tucker asked, hand hovering over the comm, ready to activate it when they were ready to broadcast a reply.

"They're here to meet with Mostyn," Reed stated. "Harris has set him up."

"Him, and us."

"What are we going to do? We can't fight them."

"The Klingons are in the same boat we are, Malcolm." Reed gave a huff of protest, but Tucker continued. "Think about it. They're obviously expecting to meet with Mostyn, like us. And, like us, they've turned up at the rendezvous to find not Mostyn, but another, none-too-friendly ship."

"We're not at the rendezvous," Reed objected.

"Near as damn it, and you can bet the Klingons will have checked the whole area. We're the only ship they came up with…"

"So they dropped in to say hello," Reed finished for him, dryly.

"Humans," the Klingon voice roared again, "you have not kept your bargain. We will board you and take what we came for."

Tucker hit the comm. "Now you just hang on there a minute," he shouted. Reed rolled his eyes at that, but Tucker ignored him to continue, "This is Commander Tucker of the starship _Enterprise._ I'm assumin' you're here to meet a guy about some plans. So are we. Clearly the guy we're supposed to meet isn't here."

"Your feeble excuses are of no interest to me," the Klingon interrupted.

"It's not an excuse, it's an explanation," Tucker said, exasperated. "I don't know about you, but I don't exactly trust the person who arranged our end of the meet. I think we've been set up, and I'm thinking maybe you have too."

Tucker and Reed eyed each other nervously in the ensuing silence, before a blinking light on the instrument panel caught Reed's attention.

"They're activating a transporter," he warned urgently, seconds before they both felt the unmistakable sensation of their bodies being disassembled.

* * *

In the end, the freighter's rescue proved comparatively simple. _Enterprise_ 's superior hull plating allowed them to safely enter the gas giant's upper atmosphere. Once in range, Ensign Tanner's skilled handling of the grappler ensured that the _Tasman_ was soon pulled to safety.

Archer was keen to be off to check up on Tucker and Reed, but first he needed to speak with Captain Hendry. He offered the assistance of Commander Kelby and a couple of engineers to help with the _Tasman_ 's engine repairs. Hendry's acceptance seemed a little grudging, but that could just be down to the usual Boomer wariness of Starfleet. The man seemed happy enough to join Archer on _Enterprise_ for a drink, even bringing a bottle of an Orion spirit with him.

Archer reached two shot glasses off a shelf above his ready room desk and watched as Hendry poured a measure of the viscous gray liquid into each. The Boomer captain handed one to Archer and raised his own glass in a toast. "To Starfleet—may they always be on hand when you need them," he said dourly.

"And out of the way when you don't?" Archer suggested, taking a sip of his drink and blinking slightly at the sudden rush of warmth it provided.

Hendry grinned sardonically but said nothing.

"How did you come to get caught like that?" Archer asked. "Not much around here to interest a cargo vessel, I wouldn't have thought."

"You'd be surprised what interests me."

"Try me."

"I don't think so, Captain." Hendry emptied his glass and stood. "I'm grateful for your assistance, but I think we can manage on our own now."

"I'm prepared to stay until your repairs are completed," Archer dissembled. "My engineers will be happy to check out your engines for you. And your phase cannon."

"My phase cannon doesn't need checking, thanks. And if that's your not-so-subtle way of asking why I've got it, the answer's simple. It's there to protect my ship from the crap Starfleet's stirred up out here lately. Time was traders were always welcome, but with all the trouble ships like _Enterprise_ bring with them, the enemies they make—things have changed."

Archer let his voice harden. "I'm more interested in _how_ you got it; a phase cannon is an expensive piece of equipment."

"None of your business," Hendry said firmly, heading for the door. "I'll be off now, Captain. I'm sure you've got someplace else you need to be. Enjoy the liquor."

His tone and body language and mocking half-smile made Archer long to hit him. Clearly Hendry knew more than he was letting on, but the man was right; even if Archer had had the authority to investigate the cargo hauler further, which he didn't, _Enterprise_ was needed urgently elsewhere. Conceding that small victory to the Boomer, Archer opened the ready room door and signaled the waiting security officer to escort him back to his ship.

Striding onto the bridge, Archer ordered, "T'Pol, get our people back on board. Mr. Mayweather, lay in a course back to the drop-off point. As soon as the _Tasman_ 's disengaged, go to warp five."

* * *

Reed stumbled as he was rematerialized on board the Klingon ship, and Tucker grabbed an elbow to steady him.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine, just a little dazed," Reed replied, waving a hand vaguely at the bruised gash on his temple.

Before Tucker could respond, a savage snarling seized their attention. Turning toward the sound, they were startled to see a creature not unlike a warthog lunging at them at the end of a chain, trails of saliva hanging from its impressively toothed jaws. Something that could have been a chuckle drew their gaze to the Klingon holding the other end of the chain.

The Klingon, clearly much older than either of the Starfleet officers, still cut an alarming figure. His hair and beard, although gray, was thick and glossy, and the heavily embossed leather body armor served to make an already impressive physique appear even bulkier.

"Blood Drinker!" The Klingon shook his fist, rattling the animal's chain.

Tucker looked blank for a moment, until the penny dropped. "Oh, Blood Drinker, right. Nice name. I had a dog named Fang when I was a kid," he offered. "Didn't have so many teeth, though."

The Klingon laughed, showing his own startling dentistry. "You're Commander Tucker. And this—" he turned toward Reed. "—this is not Mostyn."

"This is Lieutenant Reed, _Enterprise_ 's head of security," Tucker said, deciding there was no point in dissembling.

The Klingon ran a disparaging glance over Reed's slender figure, then turned to the other two Kingons and said something that had all three of them laughing. Their universal translators failed to pick up the comment but its import was clear: the Klingons were distinctly unimpressed by Tucker's bodyguard. Tucker gave Reed an apologetic shrug, hoping their hosts weren't going to get the opportunity to find out just how wrong their assessment was.

"And you are?" he asked, drawing the Klingon's attention again.

"Fleet Admiral Krell."

Tucker blinked; he hadn't expected their host to be of such high rank. "Wait a minute," he said. "Your name—I've heard your name before."

"When Doctor Phlox was kidnapped by the Klingons," Reed put in. "Perhaps you remember. Fleet Admiral Krell was standing by in orbit, ready to blow up Qu'Vat colony."

"Right," Tucker said. He particularly remembered that mission because Archer had been a guinea pig for Phlox's vaccine. Phlox had been forced to work on a cure for a plague, and Archer had been a human host, so Phlox could replicate antibodies and create a cure for the Klingon metagenic virus. Tucker also recalled that Krell had been ready to blow up the entire colony merely because people in the genetic research facility were infected. Krell hadn't been happy when Phlox had forced his hand: Phlox had beamed over a sample of plague, then offered to exchange the cure for Krell's powering down his weapons. Krell had given in.

"I have had dealings with humans before," Krell continued with what Tucker realized was admirable restraint. "I found them not worthy of my trust. Why should you be any different?"

"Can I ask which human you have had dealings with in the past?" Reed asked. "Besides us, of course."

"You allow your underling to speak for you?" Krell sneered at Tucker. "You have no honor."

Tucker sighed. "I'll ask you, then. Which particular human have you had dealings with before?"

Krell said nothing, but he twitched his pet's chain, causing it to lunge toward the two humans. Neither man flinched.

Tucker continued, "Wouldn't be a man called Harris, by any chance?"

A definite flicker of recognition crossed Krell's face, and Tucker felt a small surge of triumph.

"Because Harris is the reason we're here too," he said. "And it's my guess he's set both of us up, probably hoping we'll kill each other."

One of the other Klingons gave a derisive bark. "Your vessel is puny," he declared. "You could not destroy us."

"I could kill you like that," Krell said, snapping his fingers, "and let my targ feast on your entrails."

"Charmin'. And what exactly will that get you?" Remembering what Captain Archer had learned about handling the Klingon woman, Bu'kaH, when Reed, Sato and T'Pol had been trapped on her sinking ship, Tucker decided to take a more aggressive stance. "You kill us an' you're doing just what Harris wants. Doing his dirty work for him, and giving humans and Klingons something else to hate each other for. Is that what you want? To let a slimeball human manipulate you like that?"

Krell snarled, pointed teeth glinting in the lurid light. The targ and the other two Klingons stirred restlessly. Tucker held his breath. He was aware of Reed shifting his balance slightly beside him, readying himself for a fight if it came to that, and hoped that the Klingons wouldn't also notice—hoped in vain, apparently, because Krell pinned the armory officer with a steely glare and threatened, "Do not move, little warrior. Blood Drinker will tear your throat out before you can take a step."

The atmosphere was tense and charged with danger: maybe aggressive hadn't been such a good choice after all. Tucker tried desperately to think what to do or say next, even as Reed stared Krell down.

Suddenly Krell threw back his head and roared with laughter.

"I like you, Starfleet," he declared, slapping Tucker on the shoulder forcefully enough to knock him backward several steps. "You've got balls!"

"That's good, right?" Tucker swung his arm carefully, checking for damage.

"That's good," Krell confirmed. He fastened the targ's chain to a hook on his command chair and picked up a large flagon. "We will drink blood wine, and you can tell me what you know about this human, Harris."

"And you'll tell us what you know?" Tucker suggested.

Krell just laughed again and took a long pull from the flagon.

* * *

"Any sign of them?"

Archer forced himself to stay seated; pacing the bridge restlessly might help him work off some of his tension, but it would do nothing to speed up his officers' work.

"Nothing in the immediate area, sir," Mayweather reported, securing his station as _Enterprise_ came to a halt at the exact position where they had left Tucker and Reed.

It was 1730 hours; their diversion to Pa'lara had taken them over ten hours. The rendezvous had been set for three hours ago. If all had gone well, the shuttlepod should be on its way back to the pickup point by now.

"T'Pol?"

The Vulcan leaned into her scanner viewer, one hand manipulating the controls as she searched the area where the shuttlepod had been due to meet up with Mostyn.

"I have the shuttlepod, Captain. It is still only a short distance from the rendezvous point." Her voice radiated calm, giving no hint of the bombshell she was about to drop. "I'm reading another vessel with the shuttlepod; it's Klingon."

Archer surged to his feet. "Trip and Malcolm?"

"I am not reading any biosigns on the shuttlepod."

There was an almost inaudible collective intake of breath from the bridge crew as their tension racked up another notch.

"Mr. Tanner, go to tactical alert," Archer ordered. "Travis, get us to the shuttlepod's position, warp five. Hoshi, see if you can pick up any comm traffic."

He let the chorus of, "Aye, sir" wash over him as he sank back into his command chair, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. They'll be all right, he told himself, willing it to be true.

They were still fifteen minutes away from their target. T'Pol had confirmed that there were definitely no biosigns on the shuttlepod, and that the Klingon vessel was small and did not appear to be a warship, but she was having problems scanning its interior.

Archer knew that the Klingons must be aware of _Enterprise_ 's approach, and their complete lack of reaction worried him; it implied an assurance of superiority that, although not unusual for a Klingon, seemed foolhardy in light of their vessels' respective sizes and firepower. He concentrated on trying to look a lot calmer than he felt.

"I'm receiving a transmission, sir." Suddenly everyone's attention was on Ensign Sato. As she broke into a broad smile, Archer felt as if a weight had been lifted off of his back. "It's Commander Tucker."

"Put him through, Hoshi," Archer said, grinning back at her.

He was momentarily taken aback when Tucker appeared on the viewscreen flanked by two Klingons, both of them a whole lot bulkier and taller than the engineer.

"Trip?" He needed to know as soon as possible whether his people were in trouble or not, although he was partially reassured by Tucker's relaxed manner and the sight of Reed apparently also at ease.

"Captain, good to see you, sir." It was obviously heartfelt, and the grin and suggestive waggle of eyebrows went a long way to settling Archer's doubts. "This is Fleet Admiral Krell of the Klingon Empire." Tucker indicated the Klingon on his right. "Fleet Admiral, Captain Jonathan Archer of the starship _Enterprise._ I don't know if you remember each other."

* * *

The Klingons had gone. Archer was exhausted after an ultimately frustrating conversation with Krell over the viewscreen; it had been tacitly agreed that visiting each other's ships would be unwise.

The admiral had declined to go into details but had as good as confirmed that his previous dealings with Harris had been connected with Phlox's kidnapping earlier that year. It came as no surprise to Archer, because it was Harris who had involved _Enterprise_ in that little adventure. It had taken all of Archer's diplomatic skills to disguise his fury and keep the discussion friendly, but it had paid off when Krell admitted that Harris had contacted him five days ago and offered to sell him plans to an experimental warp engine.

It was late, and Archer was looking forward to a quiet evening watching water polo with his dog and a bottle of beer, but first he needed to speak with Tucker and Reed about their experiences. He entered sickbay to see Reed perched on the edge of a biobed while Phlox treated his head injury. Tucker stood to one side with T'Pol.

"How are they, Doctor?" he asked, walking over to join the group.

"A few bruises and minor lacerations—nothing serious." Phlox deactivated the instrument in his hand and stood back. "There you are, Lieutenant. You shouldn't have any problems, but head injuries should never be underestimated. Any sign of dizziness, nausea, blurred vision, I expect you to see you back in sickbay immediately, hmm? I know how reluctant you are to report in sick."

"Understood, Doctor." Reed hopped off the bed and turned toward Archer. "Sir," he acknowledged.

"Malcolm, Trip," Archer said, "good to have you both back."

"Good to be back, Cap'n," Tucker said. "A friendly Klingon doesn't stint on the hospitality, but there's only so much blood wine a man can take."

The humans and Phlox all shared a chuckle before Archer turned serious and related the results of his talk with Krell.

"It's beginning to look like this whole mission was some elaborate setup," he said. "I just can't see what Harris hoped to achieve."

"Commander Tucker and I are very lucky to be alive," Reed said. "Another Klingon may not have been so willing to listen to reason."

"I'm just sorry I never got to see those plans," Tucker said. "Well, I am," he protested defensively as the others all turned to stare at him.

"Commander, in all likelihood there never were any plans," Reed explained patiently. "They were just the bait in Harris's trap. The only mystery is who his real target was." He gave a small sigh and shook his head as Tucker gave him a pointed look. "And if you're still trying to suggest that this was Harris's way getting get rid of me, I just can't believe that. There are far easier, and less risky, ways. There must be more to it."

"I agree. As annoying as I'm sure Harris finds you," Archer said, with a grin at Reed, "that would be taking paranoia a bit too far—although after hearing what Krell had to say I'm wondering if maybe Harris was after him."

"Sounds like _Enterprise_ got led a dance too," Tucker put in.

"Indeed," The others gave T'Pol their immediate attention and she went on. "I have been studying our records of the _Tasman_ 's rescue and it is logical to assume that at the time they transmitted their distress call they were not, in fact, in any danger."

"How do you work that out?" Tucker demanded. "By the time _Enterprise_ arrived on the scene, they had allegedly been trapped for almost six hours, if you include the time they claimed they spent trying to extricate themselves before calling for help, and yet they were only three hundred twenty-six kilometers inside the atmosphere. A ship of that size, with their engines down, would not have been able to resist the gravitational pull for that long. They should have been much deeper—possibly even deep enough to have been crushed," she finished.

"You're suggesting Captain Hendry deliberately entered the giant's atmosphere only once he was certain that _Enterprise_ was en route?" Archer asked.

"That would be the logical explanation," T'Pol agreed.

It was Reed who broke the stunned silence.

"Have you spoken to Harris about this, sir?"

"I've been trying to contact him," Archer said grimly. "The connection we've been using now only leads to some obscure records office in Starfleet Headquarters. They deny all knowledge of the man, and I'm getting the same from all other lines of inquiry."

"Harris has disappeared?" Reed was clearly surprised.

"Looks like it," Archer confirmed. "Have you known this to happen before?" At Reed's shake of the head, he continued, "Let's hope this means we won't be hearing from him again. Malcolm?" Reed was looking unconvinced.

"There's more to the organization than just Harris, sir."

"But he's always been your only contact, right?"

Reed nodded but still looked worried.

Archer gripped his shoulder briefly. "I don't know a lot about covert ops, but it's possible that Harris is the only person who knows of your connection to the organization, and _Enterprise_ 's involvement, isn't it?"

"It's possible, sir," Reed admitted, "but somehow I wouldn't like to bet on it."

* * *

The San Francisco office looked different in daylight. A bright shaft of early morning sun cut a swath across the carpet, highlighting the expensive cut plush design. The same two men were there. The officer stood at the window, looking out in the direction of Starfleet Headquarters, while the other man occupied the desk chair.

The standing man spoke without turning: "If I accept your proposal, this obsession with _Enterprise_ has to stop. That is my one condition."

"As operational head of the organization, you will be in a position to see that does."

"Until you decide it's time to give _me_ enough rope to hang myself."

The seated man smiled coldly at the dry comment but said nothing.

The man at the window inhaled deeply and squared his shoulders, as though coming to a decision, before turning his back on the panoramic view.

"Then yes, I accept," he said. "But I mean it about _Enterprise._ I have friends on that ship, I don't want to see them harmed."

"I know, Admiral. I know."


End file.
